The Lioness of Winter
by dancewithdragons
Summary: Through the Ice and Fire there are those meant for a life they never wanted; such as the life of Rowena Lannister. A look into the life of the lion that shouldn't have been. AU, Jon/OC/Robb. (Rated T, may change to M as the story progresses)


Snow capped the mountaintops and rivers ran slowly, chunks of crystalline ice collected throughout them. Wind blew and so did the leafs of autumn, dancing in the air and kissing the ground as they landed once more. Overhead, birds with wings of red and blue alike twirled and sang and twirled some more, waking the vast forest beyond as wildlife began scurrying.

The sky blazed from sapphire to gold as the sun rose slowly in the eastern horizon, clouds of silver creeping into view. The North was calm and beautiful- and the only world that Rowena had ever known. She stared at the sunrise, witnessing the beauty of the world as it burned to life, all from the window of her chamber. Black curls flew all around her as a gust of wind caressed her, the curls of the mother she never knew and would never know.

She remembered being a young girl of five when she was told her the truth of her origin; conceived before her parents were wed and born not long after, she was the only child betwixt the marriage of Tyrion Lannister and Tysha, a crofter's daughter, sent away to be a ward far from her family as though she were a smudge on it's grand and golden name.

The Imp, they called her father. Born a stunted man, and having killed the woman he was birthed from as he entered the world, he was never loved by his father, nor his brother and sister, who had been but four when their mother died, and perhaps that was why he couldn't stand the sight of his own child, who was said to look so like her mother who died, but for her emerald green eyes. They were eyes that the people of the North seemed to hate just as must as her name, though they would never voice it to her.

They labeled her an outcast when she was a child, but as she grew and thrived around the snow and ice, along side the children of the Lord of Winterfell, her House name began to be forgotten. No longer did she feel like a ward at her fourteen years, the lion that shouldn't have been, but a member of the family she had been around since she was no more than a babe.

She turned from the window and made her way to the wardrobe, where she pulled a deep ivy colored gown made of thick wools with a sash of yellow velvet, or gold in a certain light. Calling for her maid, Ann, she set the dress on the bed and untied the ribbon that held a robe of grey cotton to her slight frame and pulled on a pair of smallclothes.

"My lady," came a light voice as the door opened, and Rowena looked up to see her handmaid, standing with her hands folded at her lap. She was a pretty thing, with long creamy hair and round brown eyes; a gift to her from Lord Eddard when she first arrived in Winterfell as an infant of less than a year. She had raised the little lioness just as much as Lord Eddard or Lady Catelyn did, and was certainly her most trusted confidante.

She beckoned for the woman to enter, lifting the robe from the floor and hanging it on an empty hook in her dresschamber before shutting the doors. "There is word from your father," said Ann as she worked the gown over her head and pressed it down before moving behind her to tie the laces of ivory.

Rowena raised a brow. It had been nearly four moons turned since she last received a letter from Tyrion, and it had only been sent for her nameday, along with a chest of extravagant gowns and sashes and jewels. The trunk lay untouched on the corner of her room, for she preferred the thick and cozy dresses of the North, as well as the fact that she could not be bought. She might have been his daughter by blood and name, but she couldn't remember his face, let alone any feelings she might have had for him before she was taken to Winterfell.

"Where is it?" She asked as Ann finished tying the remains of the ribbon into a bow at the end of her corset top and wrapped the yellow sash around her waist, a gift from the Lady of Winterfell, Lady Catelyn.

Her handmaid pulled a thick roll of parchment with the Lannister seal from her pocket and placed it on her bed, atop the furs of onyx. "It's here. I haven't opened it," Ann assured, offering a smile. Rowena nodded her thanks and lifted the letter as her maid began to run a brush through her thick charcoal ringlets. Carefully, she slid her finger underneath the parchment and across the seal, opening the paper and inhaling deeply before unrolling the letter.

At first she was suspicious, but slowly her brows fell from their arch and her eyes widened as she read on, green popping from the white. "He's coming to Winterfell," she said with disbelief. "My father... he's coming to see me. He says Jon Arryn is dead."

"The King's Hand?" Ann's brows knit together and she pulled a cloak of earth brown lined in black wolf fur from the closet. "How did he die, my lady?" Her maid tied the cloak around her neck and she pulled dark deerskin gloves over her hands.

"He didn't say," Rowena said as she pulled boots over her feet, "but Lord Eddard needs to know of this. I'll be back." She clutched the parchment tightly as she swept from the room, black curls flying behind her and her skirts swirling around her feet as she ran. If what her father's letter said was true, and the King was riding to Winterfell, then there was no time to waste.

* * *

Beyond the castle walls, heated by the hot spring that lay below the building, it was as cold as ever, and she tried desperately to wrap the cloak tighter around herself as she ran, letter in hand. Turning the corner, she slid to a halt when she noticed the Stark children practicing in the yard. "Rowena!" Called Bran as he loosed an arrow, the tip smashing into an empty barrel beside the target.

"Good morn," Robb called, smiling brightly as soon as his blue eyes found her. Rickon ran up to her and she automatically opened her arms for him, holding him at her hip and nodding to Robb. Across the yard, Jon looked up at her from gathering arrows and she couldn't help but smile at him through her panic.

"Have you seen your father?" She asked Robb, who jutted his chin up to the balcony that spanned above the sitting room and looked out to the training grounds and Wolfswood beyond. She looked up, sighing in relief when she spotted Lord Eddard watching them, his wife at his side with her long auburn curls painting the world around her as wind picked up.

"Are you alright, Rowena?" Rickon asked, and she nodded, kissing his cheek before setting him down and waving to the boys, making her way up the stairs that led to the balcony.

She reached the top just after Theon and Rodrick Cassel, clutching the letter tight, the red wax sure to stain her palm from the perspiration. "Lord Stark, I must speak with you," she said through her heavy breaths. He looked up at her, Lady Catelyn turning to smile at her.

"Rowena, good to see you this morn," said the Lady of Winterfell.

"And to you, my lady, but I must speak with you, Lord Eddard." She bit her lip and held out the letter, but he shook his head.

"Ser Rodrick has informed me there is a deserter. I have to deal with this, I'm sorry Rowena. I'll speak with you upon my return, yes? Ser Rodrick, tell Bran he's coming," Lord Eddard rested a hand on her shoulder and nodded to her once before turning to leave with Rodrick, Theon following them after smiling to her. She opened her mouth to argue, but she knew it was a lost cause; there was no arguing with Lord Stark. However, his wife didn't see it that way.

"Ned, seven is too young to see such things," she insisted, eyes switching between her husband and her son, who loosed another arrow.

Lord Eddard shook his head. "He won't be a boy forever. And winter is coming." He turned to leave once more, his cape flying behind him.

Lady Catelyn watched her husband go and turned to Rowena once they were all departed. "Winter is coming, I'm nearly sick of the words... What news have you, dear?" She asked, reaching for the letter. Rowena said nothing, only let her liege lady take the parchment and look it over. "From your father?"

"Yes, my lady." She watched as Lady Catelyn's face went from surprised to distressed, her lips pursed and her fingers wrinkling the paper. "Now you see why I need to speak to Lord Stark so urgently, surely," she said taking the paper back when it was offered.

"I do, yes," said Lady Catelyn. They both looked to where he was saddled on his dark courser, smacking the reins and riding off with Robb, who looked to her over his shoulder for a moment before he rode, Theon, Bran, and Ser Rodrick. Jon was atop his horse too, eye locked on Rowena's for a split second before he snapped the lead of his blood bay and galloped away.

Rowena rubbed the parchment with her thumb and sighed. "Will it be you who tells him?" She asked, raising a brow and looking back to the woman who acted as her mother for nearly her whole life.

"It was you who received the letter," she said, "but I am his wife... He may react easier with me telling him." Rowena nodded and went back down to Rickon when her liege lady excused herself, plucking the boy up and taking him to the main hall when he complained about his stomach rumbling. "I'll get some food in you, don't worry," she assured, rubbing his back as they went.

* * *

The sun was about to begin melting into the western horizon by the time that the men returned. There was a nip in the air and the torches and lanterns were being lit all along the castle grounds. Ser Rodrick rode in first on his sleet grey stallion, immediately greeted by his auburn haired daughter Beth who, from the behind, could pass as Sansa. Then came the guards, and Theon and Eddard cantered through to the stables after them, Rowena's brows rising.

Rickon slipped from her arms and ran to his father, who lifted him and rubbed his hair; but that wasn't what she was so shocked to see. Theon was holding a two tiny wolf pups, hopping from his saddle and striding to her. "What's this?" Rowena questioned, staring the tiny pups. The larger had had bright yellow eyes and fur a mix of snowy white and charcoal, and the smaller was near all black with splatters of deep brown.

"It's a direwolf," said Robb, who rode onto the grounds high atop his easy grey dapple. He was carrying two more pups, who yelped and whined to be released. "They're all direwolves."

She tilted her head and blinked back surprise. "There are no direwolves north of the wall. Not in two hundred years has one been sighted... Where did you get these?" Bran came striding in with Jon at his side, who each held a tiny pup; Jon's white and Bran's a light peppered brown. They both unsaddled and she went to Jon, opening her arms for the wolf. It was as so small, it couldn't be a large, fierce direwolf. "Are you certain?"

"Certain," Jon said, nodding. The pup's eyes opened as its head inclined to her, and she gasped. They were blood red and piercing. "He's an albino," Jon told her, as if to quell the fear that must have manifested into her facial features.

Her eyes flickered to Robb and he gave her a warm smile, as well as Theon when she looked to him. "So it is true, then. The Starks have direwolves." She marveled at the pup for a moment longer before kissing it between the eyes and handing it back to Jon. She patted Bran on the head when he ran up to her and showed his wolf, but her focus turned to Lord Eddard. He must have sensed her sudden worry as her eyes met his, and his face fell somber.

"Has something happened? Where are the girls?" The questions flew from his mouth and he neared her, hovering over her. While Rowena wasn't a dwarf as her father was, she wasn't the tallest woman either, though it was rumored that her mother was rather tall indeed. When she said nothing, only shook her head, his obvious ire turned sadder. "Has something happened to Cat?"

"No, my lord, you needn't worry, they are all well and good. You should clean your sword, I'm sure it's in need. I will make sure Lady Catelyn finds you," Rowena said, bowing her head as the Lord of Winterfell nodded hurriedly and turned to the Wolfswood, where the weirwood trees had taken root, to wash his blade and no doubt wait for his wife to go to him.

Robb walked up to her and raised a crimson brow. "Is something the matter? I've not seen my father so distressed in some time." His blue eyes twinkled with worry and she shook her head, curls swaying.

"Of course not, but the news is not ideal," she said, looking to Theon, who gave her a confused flash of expression as he went to find the girls with Bran. Robb said nothing, indicating for her to go on and elaborate what the news was, but she simply sighed. "It is not my place to tell you. You'll have to wait until your father decides to talk with you and the others about it."

He rolled his eyes. "Always the diplomatic one, aren't you? Sometimes I feel you are more like my father than any of his true children," jested Robb as his lips tugged into a smirk and he patted her shoulder. "Come. Wouldn't want to miss Sansa and Arya's reactions, would you?" He walked ahead, but Rowena turned to Jon.

He was unsaddling the horses with the stable boys, patting his steed lightly with his pup at his feet. "Jon," she called to him and he looked up quickly at her voice. "Will you not come inside? It will be cold soon."

"I'm northern, I'm never cold," he said, shrugging. He continued with his work, clutching the courser's reins when she reached out to still his hands with her own.

"Jon, are you alright?" She asked, brows knitting together as he sighed.

He looked at her and then the wolf, holding the stare for long. "I don't deserve this pup. I'm no Stark, and yet it called to me, not Theon or Jory or anyone else. It picked me." The pup crawled awkwardly to her feet and rested its head on the tip of her boot until she lifted it and cradled it close, Jon watching with his dark grey eyes. Stark eyes.

"You _are_ a Stark, Jon. In your blood and your heart if not by name." She offered him a smile and he slowly released the reins he was holding to the stable boy beside him, allowing the young one to walk the horse to its stall.

"Names are what define us," Jon said in defense, hands tensing.

Rowena laid the direwolf on the straw before her feet and reached her hand up to Jon's cheek, pushing his face so their eyes were forced to meet. "Names certainly do _not_ define us. I am the daughter of Tyrion Lannister; _I_ am a Lannister by blood and by name. Does that define me? Or is it my character? Who I am as a person. My father is said to be a drunken lecher, and my family crass of heart, but do you think me those things?"

He took his time in replying, eyes switching from her hand to her face. Eventually, he reached his own hand up to pull hers from his face. "You're none of those things," he told her with a slight confidence, bending down to grab the pup. When he stood straight again and his eyes found hers, she could swear they softened from their steel finesse. "You're none of those things at all."

* * *

They walked back to the castle together, not speaking, and yet it was a comfortable silence. Her hand was tucked in the crook of his elbow and she'd sent Ann, who waited for her at the entrance, to lead the Lady Catelyn to the Wolfswood to find Lord Eddard so that Jon wouldn't have to see her. A scullery maid informed them that dinner would be served shortly and laughter erupted from the kitchen, as well as the sound of wolf pups howling.

Jon released his direwolf and while he expected it to run to its brothers and sisters, it stayed by his side and walked with him, only moving to shuffle between he and Rowena. "I think he's fond of you," Jon commented with a flush as she laughed.

"I'm fond of him too. I wonder if I had been born a Stark, would I have gotten my own wolf too?" She knelt for a moment to run her hand down the length of the silent white pup's body before resuming their walk to where they assumed the Stark children were sitting with their new pets, playing with and petting them to their hearts content.

"I don't see why not," Jon said, half jesting and half serious. She looked up at him and smiled, and he turned pink once more. He strode before her and opened the door to the kitchens for her, laughing slightly when she bowed low in thanks. "You didn't have to do that," he told her.

"Of course I did," she defended. "What sort of southern lady doesn't show her courtesies?"

He must have caught on to her dark joke, referring to when he called himself northern earlier but made no mention of Rowena herself, who grew up in the North just as long as he. "I didn't mean it like that. You know I didn't... It was just in the moment, is all."

She nodded. "I know, Jon. No need to fret." She felt her smile grow as she looked upon all the Starks sitting in a circle, spread out in a way to blockade their pups in the middle. Jon's tiny puppy finally left their sides and bounded to the circle, greeted by a slew of licks and yaps from his siblings. Bran beamed up at her and Rickon reached his hands up, balling them into fists like he wanted to be lifted. She did as he wanted, plucking him from the ground, a smiley Theon taking his place to secure the pups to the center.

Arya greeted them with a proud hello. "You see that one, Rowena? The one just there?" The youngest Stark daughter pointed to a deep grey wolf with white on the underbelly and legs, toddling along with determination. "That one is mine. Her name is Nymeria, like the warrior queen."

Rowena sat behind the two girls, Jon not far from her side, and she felt Robb's eyes on her as Sansa tugged on her sleeve gently. A direwolf was at her lap, sitting with grace and dignity as she watched her siblings with large yellow eyes. It was one of the wolves that Theon had been carrying. "Her name is Lady," Sansa boasted.

"Very fitting," she observed as the tiny pup shied away from a pair of brawling direwolves; the nearly black and the peppered brown.

"Shaggy!" Rickon giggled as he clapped his chubby hands. "Shaggydog!" The black and russet wolf stopped immediately and looked to the boy of four, who grinned, dimples shallow in his cheeks. "Here," commanded the little boy, wriggling in Rowena's lap as he scooted closer to the wolf. It leaped from the circle and onto Rickon's deep blue velvets, panting and wagging its tail.

Jon laughed and Rowena followed when its slick tongue lapped her cheek before it bounded back to the fair wolf that now watched the others; Jon's wolf. Rickon rested his head on her shoulder as he pushed back up her lap, yawning. "Time we get you to bed, little one," she whispered as she stood, him in her arms.

Robb stood too, smiling. "Why don't you call for a maid? You've been running around the castle all day." He went to get a maid, but she shook her head.

"I don't mind," she insisted, looking down at the young boy who lay in her arms, on the verge of fighting to keep his lids open. Rickon, like most of the Starks, inherited his mother's looks, with bright red curls and deep endless blue eyes. All but Arya had taken the Tully colors, just as her cousins had taken her aunt Cersei's colors and fair face rather Robert's coarse black mane and electric eyes. Nonetheless, Rickon was a sweet little lad, with courage and strength. He was taken with her when his mother wasn't around, and to be honest, Rowena liked the distraction. She still wasn't always warmly welcomed in the North, and having the little one with her throughout the day helped stay some of the hate.

"Are you sure?" Robb raised a brow, nodding when she assured him her choice. "I'll walk you," he said, running his fingers through his brother's thick northern curls.

"I'd like that," she admitted, shifting Rickon so he was laying on her shoulder, his hands buried in her deep black curls. She looked to Jon, to invite him with, but he was conversing with Theon by then, so she left alone with Robb, Rickon, and the two wolves that bounced after their masters.

* * *

The corridors were quiet and the torches flickered orange and yellow against the dark stone walls. They'd laid Rickon down and left Shaggydog to rest by the hearth, and were walking around the castle with Grey Wind at their heels. Rowena pursed her lips, looking to Robb who strode beside her. "Was the deserter..."

"He died by my father's ancestral sword, as is custom," he said, nodding. Grey Wind yipped and they both laughed slightly at the pitch. "What did you and Jon speak of when I went inside, earlier?" He asked suddenly, and she raised her brows, pulling her cloak closer to her form.

She looked away for a moment, then back to Robb. "He tried to talk himself out of what he is," she said after much consideration of her words.

"And what is he?" Robb questioned, tilting his head as he looked down at her.

"A Stark," said Rowena. Robb's brows furrowed and he looked away for a moment, as if wondering why his brother would ever think he was anything else. "He said a name defines a person," she explained. "And I reminded him that if a name defined ones self, I would be as drunk as King Robert more oft than not, that or I'd be as cold as the ice in the rivers."

They laughed once more and Robb rested his hand on her shoulder; it was warm and gentle, yet strong. "You're not that," he said, smile genuine on his lips.

She returned it. "That's just what he said." The sound of footsteps cut her off and they both looked down the hall to see Lord Eddard sweeping towards them, dark cloak flying, gait heavy and burdened. "My lord," she greeted, bowing her head.

"Rowena. Robb, I must speak with you. Your brothers and sisters are with your mother in the solar." He turned to Rowena and sighed, "You may come, though I fear the news was borne on you first."

She nodded. "I heard this morning, when my handmaid brought the letter. I tried to tell you, my lord..."

"...And I didn't listen. No need to worry, Rowena, you're not at fault." He looked to Robb, who bashfully stared at his boots before shyly glancing up at her and smiling, following after his father when he turned to leave.

"I'll see you on the morrow," Robb called to her over his shoulder, and she waved after him and the little wolf that trotted behind him. She would see him on the morrow indeed, and in the following few weeks everyone would discover that her father rode to Winterfell with the king and all the rest of them; and that their liege lord, Lord Eddard of House Stark, would be named the new Hand of the King.

_*Don't be afraid to leave feedback, good or bad! This will be an AU story, don't be disappointed when not everything happens according to plan. Multiple POVs and I'm open to ideas- totally winging this. Thanks for reading and have a great morning!_


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